Time Again
by Mira-Jade
Summary: With the whole of time and space before him, and the metaphorical nine lives lived behind him, the Doctor certainly has a few tales to tell. A collection of drabbles.
1. Accident

**Time Again**

**Author's Notes**: A hundred drabbles(over time) to kick my muse into gear. Most will be prompts from DW100, and will center around the latter Doctors - especially Doctor/Rose. They are my guilty pleasure.

Enjoy!

* * *

**001. Accident**  
._Rose/NewTen._

The words had not been smooth or eloquent or any other of a thousand and one adjectives he had hoped to attribute to the moment. They hadn't even been _romantic_.

They had been an accident.

Yet her eyes had lit up in a way that told him that she was more touched then amused, and her fingers had traced over the proffered stone with something akin to reverence. The moment after the words spilled out of his mouth, he had felt such a heady mixture of hope and a hundred other things until he finally realized that this was one spoof long in the making.

There were tears in her eyes when she found her voice to answer. "Yes, you dolt. I'll marry you."


	2. Food

**002. Food  
**_Rose/NewTen_

"This is utterly ridiculous."

"What is?"

"This," he made a sweeping motion over the dinner spread before carding a hand through his nut brown hair. "It's pointless."

"The . . . food is pointless?"

"Yes! Three meals a day, and I still manage to be hungry. All this eating is a grand waste of time!"

"Welcome to being a human, Doctor," she twinkled merrily.

"Donna never ate this much!" he whined.

"I think your body just may be making up for lost time." She smirked as she nudged a decidedly skinny side.

"You are enjoying my discomfort too much, Rose Tyler."

She plopped a chip into her mouth with more exaggeration than was necessary. "Oh, you better believe it."


	3. Alien

**003. Alien  
**_Wilfred Mott, Donna Noble_

"See anything tonight?"

Her words were light and lilting as she took a seat next to him. "No, nothing tonight," he answered with a shake of his head.

There was a sigh from his granddaughter, and yet she crossed her hand over his with her unspoken support. Just a year ago she would have been with her mother, demanding that he come in out of the cold, and now she was his silent shadow as they looked up at the night sky.

He sneaked a glance over to her, but her eyes were far away, tracing little questions in the constellations with her eyes.

Well, at least that was something he understood.**  
**  
So, he let the silence fall, and dropped his eyes to the telescope again.


	4. Dance

**004. Dance  
**_Rose/Nine  
_  
They danced once – other than the first time that is.

She remembered being swathed in a white nightgown with mismatched socks – not quite an angel, nothing ethereal or particularly beautiful with bed matted hair sticking this way and that. Outside the TARDIS storms raged through time and space, and the low howls and moans kept her from sleeping.

Him as well, it seems, for he joined her a moment later – lightly smiling and wonderful.

He surprised her by saying, "Do you ever think of that time?"

"Which time?" Because there are so many to choose from.

He merely held out a hand, "Do you want to dance?"

She's thought about that time many times, but she doesn't say so. His fingers were tangling with hers, and even without music she was close enough to hear the twin rhythm of his hearts. It was enough.

The soft glow in his eyes made her feel beautiful, and she fought the urge to blush. She's been kissed by a total of four men in her life – children she hardly remembers now, and Mickey more times then she can count. And in a funny moment she thinks that if she were a fairytale princess, none of those would have woken her up.

Now, years later, in a whole universe away, she sits on the edge of her bed. Her faith in tales are dashed, and she doesn't know how long she will slumber this time. Waiting . . .

And she can only think how much she'd like to dance again.


	5. Love

**005. Love**  
_Martha Jones, Rose/Ten_

She's known the Doctor for a month, and she's already convinced that he is the most passionate man she's ever known.

It's amazing to watch him in moments like these – there's fire in his eyes as he stares down the enemy of the hour, and there's such a gleam in them later as he spoke of far off places to her. At times she can fancy that she can hear the twin beat of his hearts as his gestures became more animated, and his tales more far out.

She's known the Doctor for a month, and already she wonders what he would look like in love.

Until she finds him one evening(or was it morning?) in a room she's never seen before. The fire was gone from his eyes, and the animation from his body. He was simply _there_ as he stared down at the tattered picture of a girl with wheat colored hair and gleaming hazel eyes. Immediately Martha knew who she was, and now she doesn't wonder.

She knows. And it hurts.


	6. Rhythm

**006. Rhythm  
**_The Master_

He can hear it now. _Final. Short. Sharp. Clipped._

He can feel it now. _Pounding. Tapping. Fleeting._

He can almost see it now – swirling and enormous, like the heart of time, only concentrated. Yesterdays colliding with tomorrows and fate and forever sort of things torn asunder and apart. He imagines standing in the wind, watching them all blow away. How wonderful they will look.

How incredible they will sound.

_Ba dah-dah-dah. Ba dah-dah-dah._

Over and over again.

_Over and over and over . . . ._

And then nothing.


	7. Confessions

**007 Confessions  
**_Nine/Rose, Ten/Rose_

He is nice to look at, she supposes, in a firm, severe sort of way. From her place across from him she can admire the flint he has for eyes and the wires that frame his flesh and face. There is such a stiff posture about him – a frame held down by time and shackled by pain. So much pain.

In odd moments she dreams about stroking unyielding marble until it gave like sand. He is cold, she knows, but it wouldn't take much for him to warm.

This new him is attractive, she can give. Watching him while he sleeps, with the tree lights splashing patterns across his ivory skin and the blankets making funny little runes about his thin frame, she can see the start of a boyish, endearing sort of charm.

Her mother walks in on her, extra blankets folded over her arms. She smiled upon seeing her daughter's face, and winked in a conspiratorial way. "He did get himself a handsome face, didn't he?"

Rose blushed, and snatched her hand away from the edges of his form. "I s'pose," she mumbled.

Jackie raised a brow. "I know I raised my daughter to have better taste," she teased.

The blush intensified. "Yes. I guess he's a little hansome."

But just a very little.


	8. Unexpected

**008. Unexpected  
**_Rose/Ten Parody  
_

"Do you ever realize that all of the aliens always seem to attack on Christmas?"

"No, not really."

"C'mon, think about it, Doctor."

"I _am _thinking."

"And . . . ?"

"Well, I suppose they do."

"And you don't think that there is anything odd about that?"

"Nope."

"Really?"

"Rose, it's all about money. More of you apes are watching the telly this time of year in an effort to escape out of town relatives whom you'd rather just _stay_ out of town relatives. Festive spirits are at a high, and that means happy fangirls. So, obviously, I have to save Earth every Christmas. It's sort of a tradition now."

"_What?"_

" . . . oh. Um, never mind."

" . . . Okay then. Well, I'm just saying that we should have a real Christmas this year. At home with mum, and a tree, and -"

"Rose Tyler, I would rather be on a doomed _Titanic_ than spend Christmas with Jackie Tyler."

"So . . . we're going to have to fight aliens then instead?"

"I'm afraid so."


	9. Flicker

**009. Flicker  
**_Jack Harkness  
_

Before, when he was human, he didn't really understand the Doctor and Rose's strange relationship. There was always something more lingering under the surface, but it never managed to bubble to the top. Instead it simmered beneath, manifesting itself as excess energy in the air, biting against their skin. He could always see the yearning in her eyes, and the guarded apology in his.

Now he's not human, and he understands.

She was sugared floss, and carnival candy on a warm day. She was a cute thing, all laughter and pink on yellow. Yet, she was a flower, and here while she was blooming, soon she would wilt. Fragile skin would break and glass bones would shatter. She was a flame, flickering, and while now she burns so brightly soon there would be only a whisper of smoke where she once was.

And for all of his strength, that was one thing the Doctor was not strong enough to see.

That he understands now. More than he ever wanted to.

With a sigh, he got to his feet, leaning down to finger the mortal woman's grave one more time. The bite of memory was not as harsh this time, but it still burned.

Sometimes, he knows now, it was easier just to flicker and fade rather than burn on forever alone.


	10. Tradition

**010. Tradition**  
_Jackie Tyler, Tony Tyler_

"Mummy, why is daddy doing that?"

She looked up from where she was coloring with her son to where her husband was looking over a rather uneasy looking new Doctor. Rose was standing proudly before him, her arms moving wildly as she explained things. Pete's glower became more and more disapproving, meeting a full blown frown by the time Rose mentioned 'live here.'

Jackie smirked as the three hashed out the specifics of rooming the Time Lord turned human, and grasped the red crayon tighter in her hands. _Dads and their daughters_, she thought with a smile.

"He's just being a daddy," she finally told her son fondly, ruffling his hair.

Tony frowned. "He's _s'posed_ to be angry?"

"Naw, he's not _really_ angry."

"He seems so," the child insisted.

Jackie smiled. "It's just tradition, Tony. You'll understand someday."


	11. String

**Author's Note**: And my, but if these don't seem to get longer and longer. I think that I have officially given up on keeping them a hundred words. Anyway, I was doing some research on old companions for another story, and then this thing sorta tumbled out. It's not my fault that the Doctor gives me _soooo_ much to angst over. Well, at least that is my story and I'm sticking to it! . . . . And no, I didn't fit _nearly_ everyone in(just my faves).

* * *

**011. String  
**_Donna, Ten_

You hear him mumbling late one night. You step closer to the sound, your slippered feet whispering on the coral floor. Your slender hands lightly grip the door frame as you peek past – just a peek, you tell yourself.

And you see a room you have never seen before.

It is not his – or at least, you hope the pretty pink on yellow room is not. There are posters of boy bands on the walls, and forgotten tubes of mascara on the dresser. A thick layer of dust covers everything – it knots on the air and makes the breath thick in your lungs. Yet, the doctor doesn't seem to notice.

He is knelling before the bed, his head bowed and his hands crossed on the duvet. It's a gross imitation of a child's nighttime prayers as names slip out his barely moving lips:

"My Susan, dear Ian and Barbara . . ."

You frown, confused at first, before understanding sets in, thick and heavy.

"Jamie, Zoe, Liz, Romana – both of you . . ."

His face doesn't change as the string of names slips out faster and faster.

"Tegan, Adric, little Ace, dear Gracie, and brilliant Sarah Jane . . ."

You want to leave, but your feet are knotted in place. Tears are thick on your lashes.

"And Rose," he whispered on a broken breath. "Rose, Rose, Rose . . ."

The string breaks on a single name, and you fight the urge to interrupt and give him a shoulder to lean on – cry on, even. But he won't. Even as he speaks now, his eyes are bone dry.

So, you simply leave, and vow to do your best to not allow the string of names to grow any longer.


	12. Grief

**Author's Note:** The premise of this scene is shamelessly stolen from a _Gilmore Girl's_ episode. I appologize and disclaim in advance. That said, have I ever mentioned how much I love Jackie? She's so fiesty and tacky at times, yet underneath, she's just a mum worried for her daughter.

* * *

**012. Grief  
**_Jackie, Rose – Post Doomsday_

I'll admit that the days after . . . well, after everything that happened, were hard. I expected tears from my daughter, as well as a few days of basking with a few choice movies and enough chocolate to last a lifetime.

None of that happened. Instead she threw herself into her research at Torchwood, working until her eyes were bloodshot and her hands shook from fatigue. I don't think she ate, and attention to her appearance was cast away as she looked for a way to make it back to him.

There was no way.

But we let her look. Perhaps it was the best way to give her some closure.

Until one day I came home to find her on the couch in the living room. She was in a soft pink robe, and her eyes were red from crying. On the telly _'The Notebook'_ was ready to be watched, and stacked on the table there were our collection of Nicolas Sparks DVDs. There was an assortment of popcorn and chocolate covered pretzels with a dipping sauce made of marshmallow paste and chocolate syrup. She was clutching the tissue box as if it were a lifeline.

When her eyes met mine, my heart broke for her all over again.

"I'm ready to grieve now," she croaked, and I made my way to her side.

Halfway through_ 'A Walk to Remember',_ her tears didn't fall as fast, and her sniffling had stopped. Still, I squeezed her hand, telling her I was there for her.

Just barely, she squeezed back.


	13. Gallifrey

**013. Gallifrey**  
_The Doctor_

He remembers being nine rather than nine hundred.

He remembers whip wire limbs, and energy incidental to youth spent out in silvery trees and ruby red fields. He remembers breathing in fresh mountain air, and marveling over the the sultry hum of Time against his skin.

He remembers the hermit under the tree in the woods. The other man was old – so very old, with eyes a shade of winter ice and hair the color of virgin snow. Before the man laid a pool of shifting glass, and upon seeing him, he reached down and plucked up a small globe to give to the youngster.

"Your Time," the man whispered in a voice made up of grave winds and the howlings inside of a seashell.

He remembers looking into the globe, and seeing flames. Flames everywhere. He saw a planet gone, and the last one left. The last one, the last one, the last one . . . He saw a man, embittered, alone. So alone, always alone . . .

He remembers smashing the glass in his hand until the pain drove away the images.


	14. Umbrella

**Author's Notes**: Some goofy humor to conterpoint the angst!fest these were turning into.

* * *

**014. Umbrella  
**_Donna, Ten_

"C'mon, you're telling me that you have never heard this song?"

"Nope."

"Outrage! Nine hundred years of living, and yet you have never truly lived."

"You know, most people just act outraged instead of saying 'outrage'!"

"I'm not most people, space-boy. And you are avoiding my outrage!"

"Oh dear, you've seen right through me."

"You will not avoid the topic by acknowledging my superior genius."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

"Donna, the only thing Americans have worst taste in over literature is music."

"Aha, so you have heard it!"

"Well, yes. I mean, maybe -"

"And you liked it!"

"I did not!" the Doctor tried in vain to defend himself.

But it was no use. Once an idea got in her head, there was no stopping her. Sure enough, the rest of the day had Donna singing (very loudly, and quite obnoxiously out of tune) Rhianna's "Umbrella" over and over again.

By noon the Doctor pointedly reached for a bottle of Time Lord friendly pain killers.

Of course, this just made Donna sing louder.


	15. Stardust

**015. Stardust**  
_Astrid Peth_

Amazing.

She is floating and falling, tumbling over and around herself. Space is neither warm nor cold, it just _is;_ perfect and sublime around her. It is both empty and yet still so full, with stars shimmering like diamond dust over her, reflecting in eyes that no longer see. In just today she has surfed Saturn's rings, and slid past Orion's Belt. She has circled the fourth galaxy, kissed the sun, and witnessed the raw fury and blinding pain that was the birth of a star.

She is now forever and eternity.

And it is perfect.

She is with her stars, and from far away_ he_ watches her glitter with a smile on his face.


	16. Pegs

**016. Pegs**  
_NewTen/Rose_

You fit into this new world like a square peg in a round hole.

You are back where there are Zeppelins in the red skies again, and this time you think it won't be too bad with_ her_ on your arm. She's smiling and you feel whole past the empty feeling in your chest where once a heart had been. While not bad, per say, it takes adjustments to adapt to this body. You resign yourself to sleeping at night, and eating regularly throughout the day. And you try not to notice that you cannot feel the planet spinning beneath you. You cannot feel the seconds as they pass to minutes and hours. Days now pass slowly, even when you treasure every moment you spend with her.

The thing about being square, is that time with her sands you down. Like an ocean running over the pebbled shore, the surf smooths and cleans what was once hard and awkward. She refines you, you know, and what Time you have lost is made up for in a hundred little moments with her.

You are not alone.

And that is a place you are happy to fit into.


	17. Drumbeats

**Author's Note:** Hmm, I'm not sure how much a stretch of the imagination this one is. If it is too far for you, consider it an AU. But, you never know . . .

* * *

**017. Drumbeats  
**_The Doctor, The Master_

It was a warm day – with sultry twin suns shinning above and soothing mountain air ruffling the cerise fields below. Two children were sprawled out amidst the shifting sea of scarlet, tracing patterns in the sky above them with their eyes.

The one was taller than the other – with lazy blue eyes and a lopsided grin. He twined a long blade of crimson in his hands, looking thoughtfully above. "Now, tell me if I'm crazy, but that one looks like a banana to me."

The other child - a curious thing with piercing gray green eyes and tousled hair - frowned. "Everything looks like bananas to you."

"Now wouldn't that be something? A world full of -"

"No. It wouldn't. There's a reason Bana IV was ostracized from the Fruin system."

"You people – no vision."

"On the contrary, we simply see ahead."

"Well, the first place I'm flying is Bana IV. What about you?"

The other child fell silent. His long fingers tapped a silly cadence against the ground. "I don't know. Somewhere quiet, I guess."

"Aww, where's the fun in that? Besides, it's quite _here_."

"Yeah, quiet," the other said, tapping more pronounced as he frowned.

The smile fell from the boy's face. "Why so glum? You aren't nervous, are you?"

"No," he said, a trite to quickly. "I'm downright _anxious_ to stare into the heart of time."

Seconds and minutes passed as a tingling against their skin. The first one shook his head. "I've heard it's beautiful," he whispered in a voice filled with awe. "Inspiring."

The other boy's tapping sped up. "I've heard it sings."

"Maybe. I think it'll be more of a rhythm."

The other boy nodded, and turned back to the clouds. He could already hear the edges of the beat, and he felt no urge to face the whole symphony.

"Yeah, a rhythm," the child whispered.

"Drumbeats."


	18. Fever

**018. Fever  
**_Nine, Rose_

He had forgotten just how fragile humans could be.

The third world he had taken Rose to had been a tropical jungle – a place with violet oceans and gleaming sapphire sands. The planet had been far enough away from it's triplet suns to be pleasantly warm and yet not close enough to be a barren wasteland as it's sister systems. The lush scenery and relaxing hum in the air had proven to be a perfect reprieve after first fending off evil mannequins and then prima donna skin samples on Platform One.

After complaining about the rather large variety of insects, Rose had spent the day in the violet seas. He had pointedly stayed on the shore.

By the evening, she was red from more than the sun, and her usually bright eyes had glazed over with something he was sure he had seen in other companions before.

Confused, and saved by a not too subtle nudge from the TARDIS, he had placed a hand against the girl's forehead. She was warm – too warm, the sentient ship next knocked into his decidedly thick head.

Thinking back years in his long life, he remembered Sarah Jane and a similar experience. The first-aid kit held an advanced version of Chloroquine for the nasty tropical bugs that the human immune system was not prepared for, and that coupled with a nest of pillows and a run of black and white Cary Grant movies had the girl looking slightly better.

By the time _'An Affair to Remember' _was dying down, the girl's shivering was down, and she was nodding on and off. He sat next to her bed, fighting the urge to take her hand in his – anything to ease the obvious discomfort she was in. It was quickly becoming a bit too domestic for him, and the telltale twinge in both of his hearts was telling him that he wasn't really caring.

Soft and maternal in his mind, the TARDIS whispered, letting him know that Rose was well and truly out. So, nodding, he got to his feet, and set the lighting down to a soft glow. Instructing the ship to let him know as soon as she awoke, he slowly made his way from the room, only pausing to look back before he closed the door.


	19. Mythology

**Author's Notes: **This is what happens when you combine a caffeinated muse with a Mythology textbook lying around. I apologize in advance. ;)

* * *

**019**. **Mythology**  
or 'Beware of Dog (for good reason)'  
_Donna, Ten_

In all of her time traveling with the Doctor – through time and space and back again, never had she seen him run quite like . . . well, like _that._ That being like one Time Lord windmill meeting Will E. Coyote dust cloud, punctuated by a "we have to leave _now_!" yelp/scream that was a bit too high pitched for her not to laugh at.

And well . . . she _had_ warned him about the sign.

It served him right for ignoring her!

Although, if she knew that the one thing that the Doctor was irrationally afraid off was man's-best-friend, then she would have kept her mouth shut anyway. The comedic material she had just gathered was enough to get her through the rather murderous glare the Doctor was leveling at her as he bandaged the dog bite on his right arm.

She offered to help, and was met by a rather childish, "I can handle it myself."

So, here she was now - trying not to laugh as the sullen alien scrubbed a ridiculously exaggerated amount of rubbing alcohol onto the rather small wound. Donna finally rolled her eyes in annoyance when he took the gauze between his teeth in his efforts to wrap the wound. "Oh, honestly. It isn't that bad!"

"Oh yes, it is! That . . . that _monster_ could have had rabies, or any number of filthy diseases . . ."

"You're telling me that _rabies_ can actually harm you?"

"Donna, that's besides the point!"

She tried _sooo_ hard not to smile. "Um, Doctor. It was a Pomeranian. I have nieces and nephews who bite harder than that."

His glare was enough to make her squirm. Just a bit.

"Seriously, though, you're acting like you were just mauled by one of the hounds of Hell, and . . . what?"

The Doctor had mumbled something under his breath about a rather unfortunate trip to ancient Greece and a bad brush with a three headed dog, and she stopped her tirade short.

She blinked.

. . . and blinked some more.

"Three headed dog in Greece . . . you mean . . . you mean _Cerberus_?"

The Doctor's only reaction to her surprise was to shudder before glaring quite mulishly at her. "Because Time forbid that that bloody Hadian alien could have had a three headed _goldfish _as a guard rather than -"

"Cerberus?!" she interrupted quite dumbly.

At this, the Doctor finally put the rubbing alcohol down, and let out a deep sigh. "Donna, this is why you never make Greek poets angry. Bad things tend to happen afterwards."

Finally constraining her surprise to merely the widening of his eyes, Donna shook her head in sympathy and handed the bottle of rubbing alcohol back to the Doctor without another word.


	20. Scribble

**Author's Notes**: Well, this will be the last one for a bit of time. I'm flying out to Texas tomorrow, and intent to enjoy two weeks of sun and fun. I'll be back with some fresh updates when I get back.

Love ya all, and fresh Jelly Babies to everyone in the meantime!

* * *

**020. Scribble  
**_Donna Noble_**  
**  
Late one night – (or was it morning? She could never tell on the ship that embodied time itself) - They had just concluded some rather nasty business with a peculiar race of Yoda-esque little creatures minus the Force. By the time they got back to the TARDIS, she declared it night, and promptly changed over to slippers and a nightgown. She had dared the Doctor to say anything about the dye she had been unable to wash out of her hair.

He was wisely silent. After the stunt he had pulled with the foil and the paint balls, he had no room to say _anything_.

Twenty minutes later, she was curled up with a good book and a steaming mug of tea.

As soon as she finished with chapter one, the TARDIS had given a rather violent lurch. Obviously the sentient ship was as annoyed with the Doctor as she was, and so she couldn't help but snicker at the muffled curses coming from the control room. Her giggles died down when she realized that her book had fallen in all the commotion.

With a few muffled curses of her own, she rolled out of bed, and searched the floor. No luck. She moved on underneath the bed, and while her hand did not happen over the much sought after novel, she did feel what felt like engraving in the polished walls.

With a brow raised, Donna took her small reading lamp, and shined it where her hand had been.

What met her eyes surprised her, and she blinked before understanding set in.

There were names . . .

Frowning, she passed her fingers over the engraved letters. Each seemed to be written by a different hand, and if she thought hard enough she could have sworn that she had heard the names before . . .

_SF_ _was here_, was the first one, in a flowing, spiderish script.

The others – _Babs_ and _Viki_ and _Kat _and _Sarah_ and _Zoe_ and _Liz_ and _SJ_ and _Gracie_ and _Bad Wolf_ and_ MJ_ . . . .

Donna smiled fondly, and took the alien looking pen that was on the floor next to the wall. With a pang in her chest she gently inscribed her name at the end of the list. The latest in a very long line.

Afterwards she closed her eyes, ire completely forgotten, and briefly wished, _Doctor, please remember me._


	21. Flirt

**Author's Note**: I'm back and finanly getting off my lazy bum to update. Please, do not take this one for anything more than crack - for which it surely is. And that said, enjoy.

* * *

**021. Flirt**  
_Jack Harkness/Surprise!_

The 'morning after' was pretty much well traveled territory for Jack Harkness. So, when he woke up with a splitting headache that felt like there were half a dozen Daleks chasing each other in circles right beneath his eye lids, he wasn't terribly surprised. The spinning room and the rubbery limbs were all other indications of a rather brag-worthy hangover.

What _was _surprising was the nest of pink blankets and tacky magenta fur pillows he found himself in.

He raised a brow, and tried desperately to remember the night before. No use. That period of time was still something foggy, only punctuated by flashing club lights and a rather pretty blonde with startlingly familiar dark eyes . . .

Jack swung upright with a start, rubbing at his eyes as if he could erase the memories. No use. If he had known that a simple, and rather cheesy pick-up line could lead to . . .

He shook his head firmly, and looked about the room for his clothes.

As soon as he was pulling on his shirt, the girl from the night before walked in, a large smile on her face as she zipped up her jacket. "There's coffee on the counter it you're interested. I'm off to work. Stay, leave – whatever you like."

He nodded rather dumbly after her, finally putting just where he had seen that teasing smirk before.

As he downed the proffered coffee he only reflected that there were some unforeseen . . . intricacies of time traveling that he had not considered before. As he left to find his companions – a knowing Doctor and an oblivious Rose who asked, "So, what poor soul was stuck with you for the night?"

Jack shuddered. The Doctor chuckled.

"No one," he let out in a voice only slightly higher than normal.

Because, it was not that the young woman bore a startlingly striking resemblance to Rose, it was that Rose bore a startling resemblance to _her_.

Jackie Tyler would never let him live this one down – if she ever remembered.

And Jack shook his head, and wondered why he just didn't swear off women completely.


	22. Prelude

**Author's Note**: I had a request for more of the child!Master drabbles. So, Anna-Saxon, this one is for you!

* * *

**022. Prelude  
or, The First Movement**  
_The Master_

He was the kind of boy who was not particularly noticed, nor who tried particularly hard to stand out. He was the background for a friend who was the center light – the blank spaces between heartbeats and the static between thunder and lightning.

And that was the way he liked it - for now, anyway.

He had a quiet kind father who was on his thirteenth try at Time, and a mother who swirled with the autumn winds. While not a Lady of Time, she could feel the prickle of it's first movements against her skin, and in her quest to hear the whole sympathy, she hears little else at all. The boy didn't mind the quiet home too much. In some ways it was a relief to the things that swirled around in his mind.

Once the suns were high in the noon sky, he would pad out to the silvery groves, and the mountain caves beyond that. His bare feet rustled against the cool stone in a trickling rhythm, and he tapped his fingertips against his thigh in time with it. In the back, where the shadows were all encompassing and the air was bitter sharp, there were wide glassy pools. If looked at from the right angle, with the right set of eyes, they showed the universe above.

And so he sat down – watching the spider web of stars dance with the river of planets. The cosmos was a violent thing, and Time was even more turbulent so. They sang as they twinned together through his mind – sharp staccato tumbling together with long chords and brilliant crescendo.

And he'd tap his hands in time to the symphony only he could here.


	23. Domestic

Sorry for the gap between delays with these. I had a bout of extreme laziness and then an even more severe bout of Star Trek on the brain . . . yes, be very afraid.

To make up for the time off, I have a mushy make-ya-smile inside update. It was almost painful to write. ;)

* * *

**024. Domestic**  
_NewTen, Rose_

_'I don't do domestic.'_

The old line hums through his new mind at the oddest of times. He had tried to use it initially – as a way to get out of socially challenging situations, and as a way to avoid other _things_ . . . Rose had raised a brow, and quite calmly said, "Really? You're a good deal human now, so you better get right used to this sort of thing."

The domestically challenged excuse hadn't worked well on other things, either. And now he finds himself enjoying the nuisances of human life. He doesn't mind the band on his finger – and he certainly enjoys the one on hers. The in-laws aren't that bad. Motherhood and time had mellowed Jackie, and Pete was an amiable fellow. In secret places of his mind that only he acknowledged, he knows that he enjoys the family dinners, the grocery shopping, and picking up the dry cleaning.

It felt right.

But this . . . .

_This_ was pushing it.

Using the domestic excuse to his wife had been a mistake. Rose's eyes had twinkled, and before he knew it, he was on diaper duty for the rest of the week.

His daughter was cooing from her spot on the changing table, and even that already sounded like she was laughing at him. A trait that she no doubt inherited from her mother. With one hand plugging his nose, and the other hand getting the job over as quickly as he could, he glared at the baby, "This is all your fault, you know?" he told her severely.

The child giggled some more, and in spite of himself, he started to smile.


End file.
